Welcome To 2010
by r4ven3
Summary: It is New Years Eve, and for once, Ruth and Harry appear to be on the same page, but there is "always something". A two-shot piece for New Year.
1. Chapter 1

London - 31st December 2009:

"That will be all for tonight, Thomas," Harry says, opening his own door before stepping from the car.

"What about once the celebrations are over, sir? I can pick you up and get you home much quicker than a taxi. You'll be hard pressed to find one in the early hours."

"What if I ring you at midnight, letting you know my plans?"

"Right you are, sir. Have a good evening."

Harry intends to have more than just a good evening, which is why he'd instructed Thomas to drop him off here, at The Grenadier, a tiny pub within walking distance of Thames House. He knows The Grenadier stocks the brand of White Burgundy from Margaret River in southern Western Australia, the best of the variety he'd tasted since … that evening so long ago. He is also willing to accept that on the evening in question, a bottle of cheap grappa would have tasted to him like the nectar of the gods.

His memory of that night has his face relaxing in a rare smile as he crosses the narrow street to the front door. On entering the busy lounge bar, Harry glances around him, a habit he will most likely take with him to the grave. Better to be safe than dead, Connie had told him on more than one occasion, chiefly as a much younger adult, before caution and discretion had become his daily companions. The pub is crowded, but quiet for a New Years Eve, with most patrons in closed groups of a dozen or so. Allowing himself another quick scan of the room, and seeing nothing unusual, he heads directly to the bar.

He is standing at the bar, contemplating whether he has time for a quick whisky, when he feels a gentle hand on his arm. He is surprised, perhaps shocked, to learn that the hand belongs to an attractive blond woman, who can be no older than thirty-five. It is a very long time since a woman has approached him in a bar, and even longer since he has welcomed such an approach. At fifty-six years of age, and in love with someone who may forever remain out of his reach, he is not about to welcome the advances of some random stranger, no matter how appealing the idea may sometimes be. He glares at the young woman coldly, who then quickly drops her hand.

"You look like you could do with company," she says huskily, leaning closer to him, but not touching, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"You can't possibly know that," and as he speaks, he notices the woman's eyes flick over his shoulder at the same time as his phone buzzes from inside the top pocket of his jacket.

He is about to retrieve his phone when the large man who had been next to him at the bar steps from behind him to his side, effectively blocking his escape route. "I suggest you allow that to ring out," says the man. His accent is mixed, and Harry can detect a Russian dialect, and maybe some Balkan, but he can't be sure. Whoever these people are, he'd best cooperate, so he does as he's told, and ignores his phone. The very last thing he needs on this night is a beating.

* * *

Ruth waits until the call goes to voice mail, and then leaves a message. "Harry," she says quietly, turning away from where the others are arguing about whether it's better to take your life by shooting yourself in the head, or jumping from a tall building to the pavement below.

"I'd rather go out with a bang," states Dimitri.

"Wouldn't we all?" purrs Ros.

"I like the idea of jumping," states Tariq seriously. "Like, you can hardly change your mind once you've jumped."

Despite the racket created by her colleagues, Ruth lowers her voice as she speaks into her phone. "It's me," she says. "Where are you, or more to the point, why are you not here? It's almost nine, and Dimitri's been drinking steadily since six o'clock." She hesitates before continuing, unsure whether he will welcome a personal message from her. They have not been on the best of terms, which is mostly her fault. "What I'm saying is we miss you … _I_ miss you. `Bye."

She turns towards the others, where only Ros has noticed her talking into the phone. "Is he on his way?" Ruth shakes her head. "Did you tell him to hurry up, and that Dimitri is about to fall down unconscious?"

Ruth is uncomfortable speaking about Harry to anyone, but especially to Ros. While Ruth had been in exile Ros had become his confidante, and on her return their closeness, their exclusiveness had shocked her. "He .. didn't answer, so I left a message."

"Right, so if he's not here by ten, we'll have to send out a search party."

And on the word `party', Ruth's phone rings. "That'll be Harry," she says, opening the phone without checking the identity of the caller. "Harry?"

But it isn't Harry.

As Ruth listens to her caller, Ros notices the smile quickly fade from her eyes, to be replaced firstly by a frown of confusion, and then a blank stare, which Ros recognises as a sign that Ruth is afraid. "What is it?" she asks, stepping further away from the others, who are now discussing the kind of firearm which will be most likely to spatter one's brains across the room.

"That was Thomas, Harry's driver," and in a dull voice, Ruth shares with Ros the bones of the call. Thomas had stayed parked across the street from The Grenadier, just in case Harry had changed his mind about needing a lift to Thames House. He was about to drive away when he noticed Harry leaving the pub, accompanied by a young woman and two rather large men in suits, neither of whom appeared friendly. As they had passed under a streetlight, Thomas had seen that Harry's face was set in a serious expression, hardly compatible with a night out. "They left in a car," Ruth added.

"Did Thomas get the registration number?"

Ruth nods, and then her phone chirps with a text message. "That'll be it now."

"Right, time to act," and Ros turns to the others. "You lot ... _quiet_!"

To everyone's surprise, including Ros's, the others fall silent, all talk of what kind of groundsheet to use to collect one's blood and brains forgotten in an instant … other than Dimitri, who is giggling to himself.

" _Dimitri_!" Ros barks.

"Yeah?" Dimitri's voice is slurred, his focus not quite steady.

"Can you please shut up and listen."

Even Dimitri falls quiet while Ros addresses them all. When she has finished, Tariq is the first to speak. "I can do a search for the vehicle. Audi, was it, Ruth?"

"No. It was a Lexus. Black .. or dark blue."

"And I have tracers on all your phones, so -"

"You have?" Dimitri interrupts. "Sneaky bugger."

"All our phones have electronic trace mechanisms … for security reasons. They are under the battery. I did that not long after … I joined." Tariq falls silent. He had been about to say `after Ruth returned', but he hadn't wanted to upset her. He'd already noticed how any mention of her return to London always results in her and Harry being odd and uncomfortable around one another, and he knows that's not good.

"What should I do?" Ruth says from behind Ros's shoulder. Seeing no response from Ros, who is poised to join Lucas at his work station, Ruth is about to repeat her question, when Ros stops and turns.

"Perhaps you should break into Harry's office and search through his diary."

"I … I can't possibly do that." She could, of course, but won't admit to it, and especially not to Ros.

"You can, and you will. I want Harry back intact and ready for work in two days, but I know you want him back tonight. If my instincts are correct, I think he has plans for the two of you."

And on that bombshell, Ros does an about turn, and hurries to join Lucas, leaving Ruth standing on the spot, her mouth open, her thoughts flying in all directions.

Of late, Ruth has been once again warming to Harry, but she hasn't known what to do about it. Only two weeks earlier she'd asked him to join her for a drink, but they had been unable to keep that date, as work had interfered. She would love to ask Ros what she'd meant by 'I think he has plans for the two of you.' That could mean any one of a dozen things. Harry could have plans to work late, to make up for him not being on the Grid all afternoon. He might want her to do some translating, or he may even have a private job for her, perhaps to analyse some information he has received through private sources. He might need her to listen to a feed, or to provide feedback about one of his meetings.

But she doesn't think so.

Over the past few weeks, she and Harry have been very slowly drawing closer, and Ruth has sensed in him a ray of hope … for them. He has smiled at her when she'd arrived on the Grid of a morning, and he has been making a point of saying goodbye to her when she leaves at the end of the day. And he has again begun confiding in her about his doubts, his worries, his many burdens. Sometimes Harry is stuck for a solution to a problem, and she has once more become his go-to person. Harry is again trusting her with his most private thoughts and fears, and maybe – just maybe – he is ready to seek something more with her.

The big question is … is she ready for `something more' with him, and Ruth has to admit to herself that had he not been about to suggest they do something together, away from the other members of the team, then she would be rather disappointed. Harry is a man with a surprising amount of hidden warmth, and she could do with sharing some of that. She would like to try for something more with Harry .. if that is what he has in mind for the evening. Had .. because it is clear from what Thomas told her that Harry is taking a detour, perhaps not one of his own choosing.

Ruth suppresses a shiver of fear. _Please let Harry be safe,_ she says aloud, but to herself, as she enters Harry's office, not sure whether she should be invading his private domain. Ros clearly believes there is something going on between her and Harry – even when there's not – which means that in all likelihood the others also know. Ruth is determined to stop herself from thinking about whether the others know or don't know. What they think is none of her business.

"I've found the car!" Tariq's voice echoes across the floor of the Grid, and all eyes turn to him.

"But his phone is not in the same vicinity," says Kareem, Tariq's assistant, who has been with Mi5 for less than three months.

"How far from one to the other?" Lucas calls, standing.

"Around a kilometre."

Lucas looks around the room, and then back at Ros. "I think we need to form a posse," he says. "You, me, and Dale."

"But Dale is still in training," Ros objects.

"Who else is there? Dimitri is out of action."

"I can help. I'm fine."

"You're not," say Ros and Lucas in unison.

"What about Ruth?" Lucas asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

Ros shakes her head. "She's emotionally compromised," she whispers back.

"In what way?"

"Some spy you are," Ros says. "It's as plain as the colour of that awful shirt you're wearing."

"What's wrong with it? You're always saying I should wear something colourful."

"But _puce_?"

"It's red."

"It's awful. It looks like someone stabbed you, and you bled out."

Tariq stands and hurries to the desk where Lucas and Ros are still arguing about his choice of clothing. "I have the address of both Harry's phone, and the last CCTV sighting of the Lexus," he says, handing them some note paper. "You need to leave -"

"We need to leave immediately," Ros says, standing and shrugging on her leather jacket. "Lucas, you're driving."

And they leave, hurrying past Ruth, who is standing in the doorway to Harry's office.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," Tariq says, joining her. "This evening isn't turning out as we expected."

Despite her inner panic, Ruth manages a tight smile, one which doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I learned long ago to have no expectations, Tariq."

Tariq continues to watch Ruth as she struggles to maintain her optimism. He feels sad for her, knowing that her heart is with the gruff man they are all focused on finding. In that moment, Tariq is relieved that he prefers to play the field. That way, no-one will ever get close enough to him to be able to break his heart.

* * *

Harry is tired … and fed up. His working day had begun at five am, and now this. He's been sitting in the back of a car, his eyes covered, his hands tied behind his back, while being driven through the streets of London. When the car stopped, one of the men who had abducted him then left the car, leaving the woman in the driver's seat, and the other man beside him in the back seat. He has already asked numerous times what they want of him, and where they are taking him, but he has received no answers. Since leaving The Grenadier, Harry has been the only one to speak, so all he can do is wait. He knows that to say anything more is to risk his safety, and perhaps the safety of members of his team.

Less than two minutes later, the man who had left the car returns, and Harry feels something in the air – perhaps movement of the three abductors, as though one is nodding to the other, and the other is nodding back. Harry has been in situations such as this enough times to recognise the subtlest of movements of his captors. It is as though the air inside the car moves, and all he has to do is to interpret that movement.

No-one speaks, not even him. He is not yet worried. Were these people up to no good, they would have spoken to him, or hurt him. He is relieved that they have so far spared him the latter.

The car moves, joining traffic, and still heading north-east. Behind the blindfold Harry closes his eyes and thinks of Ruth. He hopes that when he is released – _if_ he is released – she will be pleased to see him.

* * *

"This is the place," Lucas says, slowing his vehicle to a crawl, as he pulls off the road. "Dale? This is one for you. Get out, ring Harry's mobile, and hope that you hear the ring tone. Tariq assures us it's right here."

Dale bounds out of the car, and since the air outside the car is still and cold, he pulls on his gloves … but removes them again when he realises that he needs his fingers to scroll through his list of contacts. He presses Harry's name, and then the number of the phone, all the time walking along the verge of the road. He hears nothing. They are on a narrow street in an industrial district, so traffic is light, but the hum of traffic can be heard from the A10 to the west. Dale stands and listens, but all he can hear is the thump thump of music from a pub nearby.

"Over there!" Dale hears Ros bellowing at him, and he turns to see her pointing to a spot beside the road, surrounded by tufts of hardy grass. "I can see something flashing."

Dale follows where Ros is pointing, and he sees it – the flashing on and off of the screen of a smart phone. He jogs towards it, almost slipping on the grass, which is wet from rain which had fallen earlier. He bends to grab it, and seeing that Ruth is the caller, he answers with her name.

"You've found Harry?" Ruth says. Dale can hear the agitation in her voice.

"Sorry, no, but we've found his phone, and there's something else." The headlights of the car pick up something dark, and when Dale gets closer, he can see that it is Harry's jacket. "Harry'll be cold without his jacket," he says, bending to pick it up. Ruth is asking a string of questions, none of which he can answer with any certainty. "We have his phone and his jacket, but that's all," he tells her. "I guess our next stop will be the Lexus."

* * *

Ruth is agitated and upset. She is upset with herself. She allowed Dale – a young and eager recruit whom she barely knows – to know that her concern for Harry is more than professional. She hopes that Dale's awe at being in the field with Ros and Lucas will override any instinct he may have about her and Harry. After all, there is absolutely nothing going on between them, nothing at all, and that has her feeling sad and defeated. What a disastrous New Years' Eve it is turning out to be.

She glances around the Grid to see Dimitri asleep at his desk, his head on his arms, while working at his desk is Tariq, with Kareem at his side. Both men are focused on the monitor. Needing to know what is happening, Ruth hurries across the Grid to join the two technical officers.

Seeing her arrival, Tariq looks up. "The car has moved, but only a few hundred metres," he says, his eyes dropping back to his monitor. "Kareem," he says, glancing across at his assistant, "could you text the coordinates to Ros?" Kareem nods, and grabs his phone. "Let's hope Harry is still somewhere nearby," Tariq adds, to no-one in particular.

* * *

Before the car has stopped completely, Harry is dragged from the back seat by the man who has been sitting beside him. All he can hear is a grunt as the man drags him across an expanse of asphalt while he stumbles, trying to maintain his footing. They are soon inside a building, where Harry can smell grease and dirt and decay. The building is no doubt abandoned. They are just inside a doorway when he is pushed to the floor. Beneath him, he feels the cold hardness of concrete. He has fallen uncomfortably, his hands behind him, as his head connects with concrete. He wants to call out, but that would convey weakness.

He listens as the footsteps of the man who had dragged him into this building recede, and then he hears heavier footsteps, the tread of the man who'd been waiting for them outside The Grenadier. This man is much bigger than Harry, and several inches taller than the man who just left. The man draws closer, and Harry feels him leaning over him before he roughly removes his blindfold.

"This is from me," the man says, and Harry hasn't time for his eyes to focus before he feels a fist connect with his cheek jarring his skull against the wall behind him. "And just because it's a new year," adds the man, before he sinks his boot into Harry's hip.

He cries out. He can't help it. The pain in his cheek and his hip is excruciating, although not the worst pain he has experienced. He allows his body to go limp, waiting for the next blow, but it doesn't come. Instead, he feels the light weight of a blanket being thrown over him. The blanket smells musty, like it hasn't been aired in years, but it will be enough to keep him from freezing to death.

The second man's footsteps then recede, the car door opens and closes, the engine of the Lexus kicks into life, and the car drives away. Harry is alone in a building which is abandoned, his hands tied behind his back, with possible injuries to his cheek bone. His hip will bruise badly, but it will heal. His one saving grace is that the pain from his injuries is being numbed by the cold.

Harry considers the wisdom of leaving the building, and trying to find his way home. Lethargy overcomes him, and in an attempt to conserve his body heat, he curls into a ball beneath the blanket. He has no idea where he is, and he has lost track of the time. All he can hope for is that his team, who are celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another, will miss him, and come looking for him. He also knows that finding him will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He closes his eyes, and attempts to sleep.

* * *

Harry has almost fallen asleep when he hears a car pull up outside. He holds his breath, waiting until he hears voices. It is not the Lexus, but being an empty building, it could be anyone at all, from drug dealers, to people looking for somewhere to stash stolen goods, to a couple looking for some privacy. He hears voices, and such beautiful voices they are, too.

Harry uses all his available strength to call out their names. "Ros! Lucas! Dale! In here," before he falls back, exhausted.

Ros and Lucas follow the sound of his voice until they find him curled up against the wall just inside the doorway. "Jesus, you look rough," Ros says, having shone a torch on him.

"I'd really like a whisky," is all Harry is able to say.


	2. Chapter 2

Ruth waits for Harry in his office. She has little interest in joining the others who remain on the Grid, now huddling over a pot of coffee prepared by Tariq, and talking quietly among themselves. Some of the younger ones, the girls in admin, and two of the junior agents, had already left, preferring more exciting venues. Ruth is sitting on the sofa reading when the office door slides back to reveal Ros, accompanied by a very tired and bedraggled Harry. She wants to tell Harry he looks terrible, but she's sure he already knows that.

"Here he is," Ros says, "battered and bruised, but basically intact. I'm a bit behind in the celebrating department, so I'll leave you to give him the required bollocking in private."

And as quickly as Ros had arrived, she leaves to join the others on the Grid. Harry looks at Ruth, and Ruth looks at Harry. Ros had rung ahead, describing Harry's injuries. Ruth had expected him to look a lot worse. A large bruise is already forming on his left cheek, along with puffiness beneath his eye, and there is a small cut across his cheekbone. His clothes, especially his shirt and trousers, are dirty, and he walks with a pronounced limp, which tells Ruth that he is in pain. His hair is uncombed, and discoloured by streaks of grease. She fights a powerful urge to reach out to him, and put her arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," he says meekly.

"It's not your fault. Do you have any idea why you were taken? Did they tell you?"

"They told me nothing," He looks around him. "Do you mind if I sit down? My hip -"

"The sofa is comfortable," she says, pointing towards it, just in case he wonders what sofa she's talking about.

He moves slowly to the sofa and sits, and then he pats the seat beside him. "Will you join me?"

"Have you taken anything for the pain?" she asks, practical as ever.

"I was thinking I might pour myself a whisky," he replies wryly.

"That's not the best idea. I have some paracetamol with codeine. They work for me … when I take them … monthly." Ruth colours under his intense gaze.

"Do they work on man pain?" he asks with a small smile.

"I .. imagine they do. I have some in my bag .. if you want to try them."

"I know I should soldier through the pain, but right now my hips hurts, and I'm not feeling terribly brave."

Ruth is surprised by his honesty. It is not like Harry to admit vulnerability. She hurries from the office to retrieve her bag from under her desk. When she returns, Harry is sitting on the sofa, leaning back, and with his eyes closed. Warily, so as to not disturb him, she sits beside him, and when he doesn't move, she places one hand on his forearm. He opens his eyes wearily, and smiles at her. Again, she would like to put her arms around him, and let him rest against her. "I brought you some painkillers," she says. "Shall I pour you a glass of water?"

"Thank you."

Ruth is surprised that she is enjoying looking after Harry. Injured Harry is nothing like Grid Harry, the man with high expectations of others, and even higher expectations of himself. This Harry is quiet … and malleable … and gentle, and she wants to protect him.

Once he has taken two of the painkillers, he sits back and sighs. "I think I recognised one of the people who kidnapped me."

"Ros told me there was a woman ..."

"I called into a small pub not far from here." As he continues to speak, Harry turns to look at Ruth. "The woman approached me. She offered me … company. I want you to know that I turned her down. Judging by her reaction, she hadn't expected that. Ruth," he says, slowly turning his body to face her, "I was there to buy some wine … white burgundy." Noticing her eyes widening, he quickly continues. "I had plans for this evening … for us."

Before she can reply, they hear a cheer from those still on the Grid. When Ros had left, she hadn't quite closed Harry's office door. They look at one another, both thinking of what might have been, had Harry not been kidnapped.

"That sounds like 2010 has begun," Harry says quietly, and not very enthusiastically.

"What happened to the wine?" she asks.

"I didn't even get a chance to order it before they marched me out of the pub, and to their car. To resist them would have been ..."

"… unwise," she finishes for him, and he nods.

They both fall quiet, then Ruth remembers what he'd begun to tell her. "From where did you recognise the kidnapper?"

"It wasn't until I heard his voice that I remembered where I'd seen him. I believe I once saw him .. at Vauxhall Cross. He's Mi6."

* * *

Ros is the only one drinking .. alcohol, that is. Tariq and the others, including Dimitri, have moved on to coffee. Lucas and Dale have driven back to the place where they'd found Harry, searching for leads. It has certainly been her strangest New Year yet. Tariq, who, along with his sidekick, Kareem, has been busy at his work station, sidles towards Ros, who recognises his expression as the one he wears when he has solved some incomprehensible digital puzzle.

"I thought I'd run this by you first," he says quietly, "before I tell Harry."

"Is it important I hear this now, Tariq? After all, it's New Years Eve."

"Well, technically, it's already New Years Day."

Ros glares at him. "Go on."

"What I have uncovered isn't good, Ros, and I believe you need to know this as soon as possible. Were Lucas here, I'd be telling him."

"What's so important that you have to tell me now?"

Tariq moves closer to Ros, and shares his findings. When he finishes, she is stunned into silence. "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain. I stumbled upon the Home Office memos."

"By `stumbled across', you mean, you did an intense search."

Tariq grins widely. "They were encrypted, of course, but using a regular encryption, which for me is a piece of cake."

Ros nods, and places her drink on the desk behind her as she listens to what Tariq has to tell her. Then she strides across the floor to Harry's office. If she's about to interrupt a tender moment between her section head and his analyst, then too bad. What she has to tell them is far more important.

* * *

"It was _what_?" Harry explodes, standing unsteadily.

"You heard me the first time, Harry. It was a drill. A test. A sick joke."

"But why choose me?"

"Short of lifting Ruth off the street, it appears you were the preferred kidnapee. Who else has the loyalty of the whole team?"

Harry is still standing, unaware that Ruth is standing beside him, waiting just in case he loses his balance. She had made them both a cup of tea, and she'd been about to hand Harry his mug when Ros burst into the office.

"So ..." Harry continues, glaring at Ros like the whole thing had been her idea, "as well as testing the commitment of my team, they were testing the team's ability to act … without prior warning."

"That's what was written in the memos."

"And I suppose you're not about to share with me whose idea this was?"

"What difference would it make? Those people are like a colony of ants. They work as one mind. All it takes is for one to come up with a stupid idea, and the rest of them say yes."

"At least you got that right."

"And Harry," Ros continues, "you know that these things .. these drills … are part of what we have to expect. It's just that they're usually -"

"Unexpected. Yes, I know."

To Ruth's relief, Harry sits back down on the sofa, his mood and his blood pressure dropping along with his body.

"You all right?" Ros says, glancing from Harry to Ruth, and back to Harry.

"We're fine," Harry says.

"It's just that ... you probably need to go home," Ros says, staring at Harry meaningfully.

"I was about to ring Harry's driver," Ruth interrupts, "to take him home."

As Harry darts a sharp look at Ruth, Ros adds that she is about to call Lucas, suggesting he come back to the Grid. Noticing Harry staring hard at Ruth, Ros uses the distraction as her opportunity to leave the office. This time she slides the door closed.

"You haven't asked me whether I'm ready to go home," Harry says, sounding annoyed.

Ruth hesitates, wondering for a moment whether she has misinterpreted the signals. He'd mentioned planning to buy white burgundy … for them both, and she has a fair idea what that means. "I thought you might be more comfortable at home, Harry."

This time it is he who waits, his eyes on the face of the woman he adores. She's probably right, but what does this really mean? "I don't want to be … leaving you," he says quietly.

"I thought we could leave together," Ruth says, just as quietly. "I can .. go home with you … if that's all right with you."

Harry watches her face closely, waiting for some sign that she doesn't mean what she says. Her deep aquamarine eyes hold his, but he finds them difficult to read. It's possible she's feeling sorry for him, and is planning to go home with him as a safety precaution … for his health. Were that the case, he'd be devastated all over again. It would be like her return to London nine months earlier – bittersweet, and yet ultimately painful. Despite the risk of Ruth dropping him off at home, checking his temperature, and then leaving, he is prepared to take that step. They _must_ act now. Tomorrow may be too late.

"Very well," he says, "but perhaps I should be the one to ring Thomas. If you ring, he might think the worst. He … worries about me," and Harry's face softens in a smile. "Ouch," he says, placing his palm over his injured cheekbone. "Smiling hurts."

* * *

Ruth had watched, amused, as Thomas had fussed over Harry, helping him into the back seat of the limo, when they all knew Harry to be as capable as anyone; perhaps sore, beaten and bruised, but still functional.

Ruth sat in the back seat beside Harry, and had not objected when he reached out to grasp her hand in his, curling his fingers around hers. She glanced up at him to see him watching her. His expression had said, `is this alright with you?' She'd nodded, squeezing his hand, before she'd turned to stare out the window as London by night whizzed by.

"Do you need me to drive Miss Evershed home?" Thomas had asked as Harry had awkwardly stepped from the limousine ahead of Ruth.

"Thank you, no. Ms Evershed will be staying with me," Harry had said. As Ruth had followed Harry from the car, she'd seen the surprise on Thomas's face, and she'd smiled to herself.

"You said that to shock him, didn't you?" Ruth asked, once the front door was closed behind them, and they were removing their coats.

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it. You were being deliberately provocative, Harry."

"Are you hungry?"

"Now you're changing the subject."

Harry leads her into the living room, turning on lights as he goes. He then ignites the gas fire, which slowly begins to glow. Ruth moves to stand in front of the fire, while Harry limps towards the doorway. "I need a bath," he says, "so while I'm … doing that, you might like to … relax. There's wine in the fridge through there .." He points towards the kitchen door, "and there's whisky on the sideboard. Help yourself."

Ruth had listened while Harry had dragged himself up the stairs. He is more exhausted than battered, his working day having begun at five am. She had waited while the water ran in the bath, and then she'd given him another ten minutes before she headed to the kitchen to find the makings of a pasta dish ready and waiting by the cooker.

With part of her she had hoped that Harry would call to her for help getting into the bath … or getting out of it. She'd half expected him to ask her to join him in his bath, but since he'd left the living room, Harry had remained silent. Ruth believes she may need to be the one to push them closer.

By the time Harry returns downstairs, looking healthier, and dressed in fresh clothes, dinner is prepared, and the table set for their meal.

"But I was going to do that," he says, standing in the doorway, looking from the table to the cooker, and then back to Ruth.

Ruth ponders a reply, but the statement, `you need looking after', won't go down well, even with an injured Harry. "Sit, Harry," is all Ruth manages to say.

* * *

As they eat their meal, they find conversation difficult. Harry has commented on the meal - `this is lovely, Ruth' – and she has praised the wine – a light red from southern Spain. Harry declines talking about his ordeal; `it was embarrassing' is all he has to say about it, and while Ruth knows he wants her with him, she is still in the dark about exactly what that means. Where will she sleep? In the guest room? On the sofa? In Harry's bed?

"You look exhausted," she says at last.

Harry looks up at her, startled. "What does that mean?"

Ruth smiles, dropping her head. To give herself thinking time, she grabs her napkin and wipes around her mouth, before carefully placing the napkin on the table, out of the way of her wine glass, now empty. Harry had already offered to top it up, but she had covered the glass with her hand.

"I know you've had a very long day," she says carefully, "and you must be tired."

This time it is Harry who drops his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me you want to go home?"

"No, Harry. I'm attempting to make conversation. The buses have stopped, taxis are probably all in use, and so it looks like I'll be spending the night here … with you."

When he lifts his eyes, they are dark, and wary. "Is that what you want?"

"Is it what _you_ want?"

Ruth watches him struggle as he formulates an answer. "You know it's what I want. It's what I've always wanted."

"It's already .." Ruth glances at the digital clock on the microwave oven, "past two o'clock, and I'm ready for bed. So ..." and again she hesitates, "where do you want me?"

Harry's face becomes a diorama of all his private thoughts and emotions. For once, the spy in him is cast aside as she observes his shock, then pleasure, followed by lust, which eventually gives way to joy. "If I answered that question honestly, Ruth, you'd probably run all the way home."

"I think I … know what you want, Harry. Have you ever considered it might be the same thing I want?"

Ruth barely sees the slight shake of his head. She is on her feet, and around the table to Harry's side. He turns in his seat, one arm outstretched to gather her to him. She very carefully holds his face in her hands as she leans down to kiss him. The kiss is very careful, and very tender, and he wants it to last for the rest of his life. They pull apart to gaze at one another. Ruth feels her heart beating rapidly, and she's sees her own desire reflected in Harry's eyes.

He is still sitting, with one arm around her, his hand warm against her lower back. "I don't know if I'm .. fit for what you're suggesting, Ruth."

"I'm sure you're not, but we can still go to bed together … can't we? I need a quick shower, though. It's been a long day."

Harry nods, barely able to believe that this is happening. "My bedroom is at the end of the corridor, and you can use my en suite bathroom. The second drawer in my dresser has t shirts. You might like to wear one of them to bed, especially seeing we're ... not about to ..."

And the rest of his sentence remains unspoken. They both know what he means.

* * *

Harry tidies the kitchen while Ruth showers. By the time he enters his bedroom, Ruth is lying on the far side of the bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin. "I'll just go in there," he says, pointing to the door of the en suite.

Only minutes later he returns to the bedroom, dressed for bed in track pants and a t shirt, his navy blue dressing gown open down the front. He is aware of Ruth's eyes on him as he shucks off the dressing gown, and slides into bed beside her, wincing as he does.

"Is it your hip?" she asks, and he nods, turning towards her. "Why your hip?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were I a large man trying to do you damage, I'd not be kicking you in the hip."

"It was rather dark inside that building. I suspect he was aiming for … somewhere rather more tender."

Ruth nods, and she can't help the smile which softens her features. "I'm not smiling because your attacker wanted to damage you … there. I'm smiling because I'm relieved he had terrible aim." She reaches out under the duvet to slide her arm around Harry's waist, but when she grabs him, she unwittingly grasps his hip.

"Ruth ..." he says, drawing in his breath.

"Sorry," she replies, lifting her hand higher, "I miscued. Can I see it?"

The lamp beside the bed on Harry's side catches the widening of his eyes. "See what, exactly?"

"Your hip. What did you think I meant?"

"Now it's you who's being provocative." Harry slides up the bed, and turning towards her, he pushes the duvet to just below his hips, and then very carefully pulls down the waist band of his track pants until the dark and angry bruising on his hip is revealed.

Ruth stares at the bruising, her mouth open, as though about to speak. What happens next surprises and shocks Harry all over again. Pushing the duvet away from between them, she leans down to place her lips on the bruise, leaving her mouth against his skin for a long moment. Harry feels a response in his body, surprisingly rapid for his age, and his level of weariness. "Ruth," he says, placing a hand on the back of her head.

For one mad moment he wonders whether she plans to go down on him, but he shakes that thought away. As nice as that would be, he doesn't want that for their first time. It would be best were their first time to be in this bed, but they both need to be fit, rested, and with neither of them suffering an injury of any kind.

Ruth lifts her head from his hip, and he quickly pulls up his track pants, covering his evident excitement with the duvet. "I'm not about to ravish you, Harry," she says quietly, leaning close to him. "I know we need to wait … a few days."

Harry turns onto his side. Ruth has pulled away from him, so he reaches out to draw her closer. They watch one another closely while he lifts her t shirt so that he can explore her skin. He knows it is unfair – to both of them – but he needs to know how her skin feels under his fingers, and she needs to know that away from the Grid he is a gentle man, and a sensitive lover. Her eyes hold his as his fingertips glance across her abdomen, back and forth in a mesmerising rhythm. Ruth relaxes against the pillow, her eyes still holding his, as his fingers venture further. He cups her breast, while his thumb glances back and forth across her nipple. Ruth closes her eyes and sighs. He is almost fully aroused, but aware they should not attempt anything more on this night.

Reluctantly, he removes his hand, placing it on the bed between them. He leans towards Ruth, and places a soft kiss on her mouth. Her eyes fly open, before she closes them again, sighing against his mouth, reaching around his neck to draw him closer. The kiss continues, but it is still a gentle kiss, never quite tipping into passion. When Harry pulls away, Ruth moans. "Don't," she says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't stop. That's unfair."

"I know it is. It's just that I'm ..."

"Teasing me?"

"I prefer to call it … giving you a preview of what we can be like together." He is still lying on his side, his weight on one elbow. She is the most exquisite, engaging, arousing woman he has known, and he can barely believe his luck, but he is incredibly tired, and they need to sleep.

"I suspect … I already knew … what we could be like, which is one of the reasons ..."

".. you have denied us this delightful pleasure?"

Ruth nods, and he can see the regret in her eyes, followed by tears. "Don't, Ruth. We need to be happy .. that we are here together."

She quickly wipes her eyes with the pads of her fingers. "I know that now. It's just that … the time we've wasted .. makes me sad."

Harry allows himself to lie back on his pillow, and he reaches out to turn off the bedside lamp. "As soon as I'm match fit, Ruth ..." He feels her hand slide across under the duvet to grasp his own hand, which he squeezes. "I just don't want you to … turn away from me again. Next time I make a decision – one which is difficult, and results in terrible outcomes – I need you to understand .. even if you don't agree with me."

They both know to what he is referring. They are silent for a long time, and Harry wonders is she already asleep.

"I need you to know," Ruth says quietly after some time, "that even had he not died, I'd still be here now. He and I could not have continued once he knew the truth about me … and I wouldn't have wanted to continue with him. I couldn't have done that to him .. or to us."

They both understand what she is saying. Harry releases his breath in a sigh. He really wants to tell her he loves her, but he suspects she already knows.

Ruth's eyes are closed, and through his hand she feels the tension leave Harry's body. She squeezes his hand, receiving the lightest squeeze in return. She wants to tell him she loves him, but perhaps that can wait until morning. After all, were she to say that, what would follow would be more kisses, and as nice as that might be, Harry needs to sleep. "Goodnight, Harry," she says quietly.

"Sweet dreams," he whispers in reply.

She imagines that from now on, her dreams can never be anything else.

 _Fin_


End file.
